


The Wizard of Iffish

by Onehelluvapilot



Category: Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 02:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18228962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Set during The Farthest Shore. My take on what other wizards,  specifically Vetch, might be dealing with during the wasting of the world.





	The Wizard of Iffish

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this like two years ago, right after I finished the trilogy.

The wizard of Iffish had forgotten the spell to seal thatch. It was not the first of the words to disappear from Vetch’s mind, but at the time it concerned him little. The matters of the early frosts that refused to obey him and the fishermen’s empty nets were of greater importance. He was simply getting old, and a little forgetfulness was to be expected. The villagers didn't say anything about it; they could see that the mage was weary, and didn't want to bother him with something so trivial as adding an extra layer of security to their homes.

Then a storm blew through, and everyone's rooves leaked. Their houses became damp and their children grew sickly, and then they went to the wizard. 

A farmer, a widower who was now raising his boy by himself after his wife died in childbirth, came to Yarrows’s house in search of Vetch.

“It's my son,” he said when the mage opened the heavy oaken door. “He's sick, and I am afraid.”

Without another word Vetch followed him back to his house, at a pace that stole his breath and made his chest ache, but he would not ask to slow down. The child, just a babe, was cradled in the arms of the village witch as she sat on a thin mattress. She had already done as much as she could for him, and now it was all she could do to hold him while the wizard worked his magic. The little boy coughed weakly when Vetch laid hands on him and; and nothing. The words, the healing magic he had performed a thousand times, would not come. They were gone into the growing fog of his mind that crept over the island as well.

Vetch lied for the first time in his life. He muttered some nonsense that was all that would come to him, pretended it was a spell, said that it might take a little while to see improvement in the boy, but that it would come. He felt sick, worse than the people he could not help. It was all he could do to get out before they noticed, before they asked and forced him to explain that false hope was all he could give them.

He couldn't get out the door before he stumbled, caught himself against the doorframe. Facing the storm clouds that lay beyond it, he was oblivious to the look of concern that passed between the farmer and the witch behind him. The man was loath to leave his child, who he had taken to hold, and so the woman, freed from her duty of tending for the child, went to the wizard.

“I'm alright, just worn out,” Vetch lied when she placed a caring hand on the back of his shoulder.

“Do you need help getting home?” she asked. She was a kind woman, for a witch, and she and the mage were on good terms.

“No, I'm fine on my own,” he replied, and willed it to be true. His feet stayed under him for long enough for him to get out of sight. Iffish was a wise open island with few trees for him to rest under, so he waited until he came across a little rocky outcropping for him to sit down upon. From there he could see a village and the sea, as if he squinted he could imagine a little boat with eyes painted on her hull far out on the water. He knew it was just another lie from his deceitful mind, but it brought him the first peace he had had in some time. He didn't notice himself drifting off into thought, but it was dark when Yarrow came along the path.

“Dear brother, what are you doing here?” she asked. 

“I don't have the strength,” he replied. “The words are failing. Something is wrong with the world.”

“Is sitting out here to catch your death of cold going to make that any better?” Yarrow sassed him. She wasn't dismissing him; back warm in their home she'd be happy to listen.

“No, I suppose you're right,” Vetch agreed. He used his staff more as a walking stick as he made his way over to his little sister. Though anxious to return to her home and her family after a day in town, she slowed her pace for him. It wasn't hard to see that something was wrong with her brother, and with things in general. It was small things that added up. Her little harekki had attacked her the other week, clawing up her face until she looked a little like Ged. The weather was ill, as were many people. Vetch seemed to be tired by the smallest spell, and was now incapable of larger feats of magic. His dire proclamation reassured rather than surprised her; she was not the only one who had noticed.

When they finally returned home from their short, slow walk, Yarrow took her brother's coat to hang up for him and immediately started cleaning the fish she had bought for their supper. Vetch was getting thin, she'd noticed, at a point in his life when he was supposed to be getting fat. At least then she would have had some company. Yarrow had never lost the weight she'd put on along with her children, and being a short woman didn't make her look less rotund.

“So tell me about what is wrong with the world,” she instructed as she cooked. “Is it the Balance?”

“No, it feels… Different than that,” the wizard replied as he lowered himself heavily into a chair. “When the balance is disrupted, the world is just off kilter. It isn’t like that isn’t serious, it is, but there isn’t something fundamentally evil happening. Right now, it feels like there’s a hole in the world that the good things are draining into and bad things are leaking out of. The tales from other parts of Earthsea are no better than what’s happening here. Many are worse.”

“We should count ourselves lucky then,” Yarrow tried to cheer him.

“Perhaps,” Vetch sighed. After dinner, he took out a sheath of paper and a quill. Starting with his true name, Estariol, he wrote down as many of the words of old speech as he could remember. It was disturbing how few there were.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear any comments you have.


End file.
